Mark Carver - The nurse_s hot itch

He hypnotized her. He brought her back to that night, to the laughing and drunken clink of glasses and smell of strong grass in the air. He returned her to the shadowy, frightening voice that asked her to come to another, wilder party. And even under hypnosis she couldn't remember a single thing. The door slammed soundly shut on her memory.

Terrified at the psychiatrist's helplessness, Carol tried going to another one. And in the meantime her desperation drove her to pick up men in bars every night, to go to bed with almost anything in pants, as long as even the faint possibility existed that someone could make her come. Because her pent-up lust was beginning to drive her mad…

Then she began losing jobs at a frightening rate because she couldn't control her desperation any more. Every time she looked at a man she began wondering furiously whether he could make her come. The hospital staffs, used to a certain amount of lustful screwing on the premises, were shocked at her mad, wanton behavior. The word got around very quickly. Doctors' wives and interns' girlfriends and patients' families indignantly raised hell about her. And although the need for competent nurses – and Carol was still a very competent nurse – was critical almost everywhere, she got tired again and again.

And now she'd just arrived in this small, peaceful town a hundred miles north of Los Angeles, determined to make a fresh start somehow. The fresh start, she told herself bitterly, was to screw practically the first man she talked to, Dr. Benson.

Fully dressed and sitting in front of his desk now, Carol smoked in rapid, nervous puffs as she listened to him.

"One important fact, Carol," he said gravely, feeling his cock irresistibly rise again as he watched her sultry lips and lush breasts. "If you're going to work at the local hospital, for Chrissake, don't fool around with anyone there, staff or patients. This is a small, narrow-minded town and you won't last five minutes here if you start in on that action. Just stick to business there, okay?"

She nodded. "I figured that out for myself," she said dryly. "Don't worry, Doctor, I'll keep all the action on the side. I promise."

"Good. Of course, you'll keep me in mind if you get too aroused, won't you?" She nodded, but he knew he had his chance and blew it. She'd probably still let him screw her but only out of hope that he could eventually help her. Somehow.

He stared at the pages of scrawled notes he'd made when she first talked to him. He frowned.

"You say you've tried everything, right?" Wearily, she nodded. He leaned, back in his swivel chair.

"Well, you haven't. Yours is a desperate case and it might take very drastic measures."

Carol leaned forward, her excited breathing making her ripe tits part.

She stood up, smiling with hope and shining eyed. "A thousand percent, you mean – a million percent! Thanks so much, Doctor."

Then her face turned dark, as though a storm were passing in her mind. "God, what if none of this works?"

"Something will, Carol. A beautiful girl like you," he grinned, "can't miss."

"But I have missed for two straight years," she said bitterly and walked to the door. She turned, her eyes blazing with mad determination.

"Someone out there can make me come," she whispered. "Someone has to! Or I'll go crazy…"

She closed the door behind her. Christ, thought Benson, what a Goddamned shame. A gorgeous, fantastic fuck like Carol Parsons couldn't even have an orgasm while millions of plain girls and women around the world were screwing and coming at this very moment. He scanned the pages of notes he'd made rapidly. Somewhere here, in what she'd first told him, there had to be a clue. There had to be a clue, Goddammit, because a case like this could make him rich, possibly famous internationally.

The case fascinated him, made him feel like Sherlock Holmes. He stuffed the notes in his briefcase, getting ready for the next patient. He would take them home tonight and pore over them, relentlessly searching.

Mrs. Fairweather came into his office, overfed and rich and bored at fifty. Shit! After a passionate knockout like the nurse, Mrs. Fairweather looked like a living hangover.

"Oh, Doctor, so thrilled to see you!" She sat her fat ass on the chair and wriggled it coyly. "I-I almost did it, this time," she breathed excitedly. "I almost took my clothes off in public! It was the most horrible urge, Doctor, oh Lord, someday I just know I'll do it and I'll be ruined forever!"

Benson put his grave expression on his face. Mrs. Fairweather suffered from the irresistible urge to strip in public. If she ever succumbed to it, and they both knew damn well she wouldn't, she would be the comic sensation of the year with her rolls of blubber nakedly quivering before a revolted townspeople. She might turn some impressionable boys off to the female sex permanently with her blowsy, sagging flesh. Shit, she ought to be classified a public hazard.

"Tell me all the details," Benson said, nodding. "Every one, Mrs. Fairweather."

While she prattled on, Benson smiled to himself. Her so-called irresistible urge to strip in public was nothing more than a raw desire to make her disgusting body available to anyone and everyone. In a word, she needed a healthy, savage fuck. But he wasn't about to tell the silly bitch the truth. After all, she was paying him forty dollars for fifty minutes every single week, and he would be Goddamned if he'd toss that kind of easy money away. He might never tell her. She'd confided to him that her own husband hadn't screwed her in five years, and it was easy to see why. Instead of stuffing her mouth with rich garbage, all she had to do was lose fifty pounds, take off that nauseating, garishly made up face and keep her silly mouth shut, and she'd get laid in ten minutes.

Well, maybe a week or two, anyway.

Benson continued to nod like a puppet while she babbled on, his mind on Carol Parsons. What in the hell could have possibly happened to her in that missing night? Why did a sultry, radiant girl like that suffer from such a bizarre condition? How in the hell was he going to cure her, find that hidden clue? Because it was there. Benson could feel his sharp instincts quivering. He knew it was there in his mass of notes, just a remark or a comment possibly, but it was there.

He was already becoming obsessed with the gorgeous nurse, his fingers itching to seize those notes now and reread them, pore over every tiny obscene detail, searching, probing, examining, hunting in dead earnest.

Christ, if he didn't help her come soon he'd be ready for a straitjacket.

As soon as Carol left Dr. Benson's office, she went to the local hospital and applied for a job. She'd be accepted, she knew, for two solid reasons.

First, the shortage of registered nurses around the country was critical. A nurse could go literally anywhere there was a hospital and get a job. Second, under "Reasons for leaving last employment," she always put the same thing. "Personality conflict." There was always a lot of personality conflict in the constant pressure of a hospital so no one could argue about that. Nor would her last hospital say anything about her wanton behavior. As long as her infractions weren't medical they would protect her. Doctors and nurses always protected each other as much as possible, since it took years of arduous training to get a license.

And if every doctor and nurse who'd been caught playing around at some lustful moment in a hospital lost their licenses, most sick people would be ready for the morgue. Or so they reasoned.

Carol was immediately interviewed by a handsome staff doctor who could barely keep his eyes off her proud tits. And even though a hot throbbing began in her tormented pussy, Carol firmly told herself no. Not this time. There was plenty of action walking around out there, and the thought that she could now choose from both sexes started a soaring excitement in her blood.